Kate Potter and The Chosen One
by TheOptimisticRover
Summary: Living with the Dursleys might have been a terrible ordeal for Kate and her twin Harry, if it hadn't been for their godfather and his wife. The twins also hide a secret from the ordinary folk of Little Whinging-they're both magical. Join Kate as she attends Hogwarts, struggles with dyslexia and her status as the sister of the Boy Who Lived, and goes up against deadly enemies.
1. Prologue

As the wet April day came to an end and the shadows thrown by the streetlights grew longer, a light, warm breeze drifted through the dark streets of Privet Drive. The bushes rustled and a stray leaf blew away until it unceremoniously stuck to a gate. The neighbourhood itself consisted of countless identical houses with neat, square gardens and driveways, slightly damp from the mild rain earlier in the day. Curtains had been drawn across windows without exception, and a few were illuminated by the light inside the house.

The depressing monotony was broken by a slight creak, as the door to one of the houses - number four - opened to reveal a woman, holding what seemed like a bundle of blankets as she stepped past the threshold. She was a tall, bony woman with blonde hair, pale blue eyes and a horse-like face. She looked around nervously as though expecting a neighbour to jump out of the bushes and start asking questions. When she saw no one, Petunia Dursley made her way onto the pavement, her heels clicking against the wet pavement. The street lights illuminated a baby's face peeking out of the blankets, his green eyes wide open and a lightning bolt shaped scar barely hidden under a knot of jet black hair.

Petunia stared ahead determinedly, looking anywhere but at the baby, walking as fast as she could manage without seeming in a hurry. The last thing Petunia wanted was to have one of the neighbours peek out the window and watch her go by carrying a baby who was not her son.

It had been nearly twenty-four hours since Albus Dumbledore had shown up at her doorstep, Petunia's nine-month old nephew nestled in his arms. Somehow, Dumbledore had managed to persuade Petunia to take care of both of her sister's children, after Lily's untimely death the previous evening. Petunia's niece was nowhere in sight, but the old headmaster had assured Petunia that the girl was safe, and that she would arrive soon - as if Petunia was worried about the girl. If anything, Petunia would have been perfectly happy for the child never to have existed at all.

Grudgingly, Petunia had promised to care for her niece and nephew as her own, but a few hours later, she had changed her mind. She had found herself unable to look at young Harry's green eyes without old feelings of resentment rising to the surface. If one reminder of her sister was bad enough, two would be much worse, and Petunia didn't think she could handle it. These two interlopers weren't welcome to share the comforts that belonged to her son only.

Petunia continued to hurry down the road, and it wasn't long before her destination came in sight. She stopped in front of the door of a house that looked more or less identical to her own, and indeed to every other one in Little Whinging. Dumbledore had informed her that the man living here would be able to help, should she ever need it. Could that help extend to her need to be rid of the child in her arms? There was nothing else for it. She took a deep breath and knocked.

A moment later, Petunia heard a chair scraping against the floor and the sound of scurrying feet, which stopped just behind the door.

"W-who is it?" said a skittish voice.

Petunia scowled, but answered. "Petunia Dursley."

The lock clicked and the door opened to reveal a short, nervous-looking man. Petunia took in his appearance with a sneer on her face. The man looked young, perhaps a little younger than her, and had small, watery blue eyes and a thick patch of mousy brown hair. There was a spot of dirt on his temple and his clothing was as nondescript as his features. His eyes grew wide as he took in the bundle in her arms.

"Peter Pettigrew?" she asked, barely keeping the derision out of her voice.

"M-Mrs. Dursley," said the man, his voice squeaking slightly. "What can I do for you? W-would you like to come in?"

He moved away from the door and held it open for her. Petunia stepped past the threshold and Pettigrew closed the door behind them, and led her through the dimly lit hallway and into the living room.

Petunia stopped short at the doorway.

This wasn't what she was expecting. According to Dumbledore, Pettigrew had only moved in this evening, and yet the room looked like he had been living here for years. A couple of photos were hung up on the bland, cream-colored walls. A brown sofa and a few patched, stuffy armchairs were arranged around the fireplace and simple mantelpiece. Worn cabinets and bookshelves were loaded with books and belongings. There was no sign of dust at all.

Petunia couldn't help but feel unnerved.

"Please, sit," squeaked Pettigrew. Still edgy, Petunia moved to an armchair and sat down. It was then she noticed a bassinet on the floor, facing her so that she could see the other child, the tuft of red hair glinting from the fire. The girl looked rather frail and sickly, far too delicate even for a baby. Like her brother, she was awake, her wide, hazel eyes taking in the sight of her Aunt. Then, the girl's mouth stretched into a toothless smile, and there was a small noise that sounded like laughter. Petunia almost smiled back. Almost.

"Would you like some tea?"

She nearly jumped at the voice and looked back at Pettigrew, who was frowning as his eyes darted between Petunia and the girl.

"No, thank you," said Petunia crisply; she wanted this over with quickly. She held the boy out to him, forcing Pettigrew to take him; he held the baby rather awkwardly. "I've only come here to leave the boy here. Vernon and I can't keep either of them."

The man stared at her for a moment, his expression pensive and almost calculating. He looked as though he had been expecting something like this.

"Dumbledore explained -" Pettigrew started.

"I know what he said," Petunia snapped. The man flinched a little. "But I can't do this. I'm not going to look after three children at a time. I have my own son to look after and we can't afford to care for them as well."

"Dumbledore - " he began again but Petunia cut him off again.

"They're your godchildren," she said ruthlessly. "They're your responsibility, and I don't see why your kind can't look after them. You know as well as I do that these two are just going to be exactly like you and L-Lil-" Petunia took a deep breath as her voice cracked. "Well, Vernon and I don't want to deal with any of this. Just take them."

Pettigrew was silent for a bit. He glanced down at the boy with an unreadable expression, and then at the girl, his eyes softening.

"I could take them," he said quietly. "But I won't be able to protect them the way you can. Nor would any of… my kind." It was Pettigrew's turn to take a deep breath. "Dumbledore told you what L-Lily did, how she and J-J-James died. You don't understand the danger the two of them are in. They won't survive a few years without the protection only you can give. I know how you feel about us, but they're your niece and nephew, your blood. Are you really going to leave them to their fate?"

Petunia flushed angrily, but Pettigrew plunged on.

"If you and your sister had your positions reversed, you know what Lily - and for that matter, J-James - would've done."

"Our positions would never have been reversed because I would never have joined your freakish world! I would never have put myself or my family in danger like that!" snapped Petunia.

Pettigrew flinched violently at that. He swallowed and said "Nevertheless, what's happened has happened, and the facts are Harry and Kate are in danger and you are the only person who can protect them." He met Petunia's eyes. "Will you let your sister's children die, Petunia?"

It was Petunia's turn to flinch. "I..." She took another breath and composed herself. "I cannot look after all three of them at once. My Dudley needs me. I can't spend all my time attending these two."

"That's what I'm here for," said Pettigrew. "I may not be able to house them, not without nullifying the protection, but there are ways around that. Why do you think Dumbledore helped me find a house so close to yours? I-I will make sure they're provided for and give you any help you need. J-James was one of my best friends. It's the least I can do."

Petunia looked Pettigrew up and down appraisingly, and he shrank back slightly. She wasn't remotely impressed by the weedy, jumpy man, but if he was offering to take them out of her hands for any length of time, who was she to complain? Petunia thought of her own son; any time without the other two was time she could devote to him.

"Fine," she said at last, primly. "Fine. Vernon and I will feed them and provide them with a roof over their heads, but that's it. You can pay for the clothes and anything else. And we will not tolerate anything that has to do with your lot. Keep anything… unnatural... limited to your house. We don't want the neighbours asking any questions. Do that and we won't interfere with anything that happens under your roof. Meanwhile, you will not interfere with the way we deal with the two of them. You are not welcome in our house and I certainly don't plan to come here," she sniffed as she looked about the room with its worn, tired decor, "unless absolutely required.

"And most importantly," Petunia looked back to Pettigrew frostily, making him flinch again, "you keep far away from my Dudders. I don't want your kind anywhere near him."

"I can agree to that," said Pettigrew instantly, and he handed the boy back to her. Pettigrew then went over to the girl and picked her up. Petunia noticed he looked far more comfortable holding her than he had with the boy. Pettigrew smiled down at Kate Potter as she let out a small squeal and waved around two small arms.

Petunia and Pettigrew sat there in a tense silence for about two minutes, staring at each other.

"I will bring Kate over in a few days," said Pettigrew finally, "once we're sure she's going to be alright. Poppy wants to do some more scans..."

"Very well, then," said Petunia, standing up. "I have to return home now. I'm not leaving Dudley without me for any longer. We'll need to make arrangements tomorrow. If you'll give me your telephone number -"

Pettigrew's brow furrowed. "Tella - phone?"

Petunia stared at him in mingled disgust and astonishment. He didn't even know what a telephone was? She pursed her lips. "Our house, then," she said grudgingly. "Tomorrow morning. You can at least find your way there, I presume."

Pettigrew scowled but nodded.

Without another word, Petunia turned and walked off, still cradling her nephew in her arms, a sour look on her face. She had just stepped out the front door when Pettigrew called to her. He was standing at the door frame, bouncing the other gurgling child in his arms.

"The funeral is in two days," Pettigrew said, and Petunia flinched. "You'll be attending?"

Petunia opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to rein in the tears that threatened to fall. She took a deep breath.

"No," she replied, a slight tremor in her voice. She slammed the door shut behind her, and walked back the way she came.


	2. Twilight

Chapter 1

The headmaster radiated a youthful energy despite his old age. He had a long, flowing silvery beard tucked into the belt of his flamboyant robes, and his intelligent piercing blue eyes hidden behind half-moon glasses. He was one of the most famous in the Wizarding World - an eclectic mix of wise, magically and politically power, and a small amount of eccentricity. And yet, one knew that the Albus Dumbledore was not someone to be trifled with.

Currently, he stood at the window, his hands behind his back as he watched the soft glowing light, as the sun went beneath the horizon. Soon, the summer would end and the sound of children laughing and rushing about would fill the ancient castle.

"Is he or is he not out there?"

Dumbledore didn't respond immediately; it was a minute more before he turned around and face the pair seated at the desk, one stiff and one relaxed.

"Well?" the Minister demanded.

"He is."

"And you never saw fit to give this information to the Ministry?"

"No, I cannot say I did."

"No? I suppose you thought you had the right to do as you please with it? Perhaps, it didn't occur to you that it would be vital to get hold of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named before he could come back to cause damage."

"I had no evidence," Dumbledore said. "For years, I've had only theories, never any proof. Tell me, Minister, what was to be gained by spreading panic once more over a mere theory? They deserved some peace."

The minister bristled and pursed his lips. He was a serious looking man, with stress lines on his forehead, thinning white hair, and a neatly trimmed mustache. His son, on the other hand, looked far more relaxed. He was a young man in his late 20s, with straw coloured hair, intelligent dark eyes that took in everything and an easy grin. He could not have looked more different from his father.

Barty Crouch Sr. leaned forward, his hands on his cane.

"But you're confident he's out there now? After ten years?"

Ten years of peace. Ten years after the abrupt defeat of the man whose name even the bravest feared to speak. Ironically, Lord Voldemort, who only ever feared Albus Dumbledore, met his supposed end at the hands of a one year old. No one ever knew what really happened that Easter night, and while many, many rumours and theories were spread around, none came closest to the truth. But Dumbledore had guessed what had happened that night, and he had spent the last ten years searching and researching.

"I am confident, yes. But I still have little to no proof, except for rumours and whispers from my sources. Your son - " he inclined his head at the younger man " - I have to admit, did a far better job than I could of tracking Lord Voldemort."

"Yes, he has," the father said, a hint of pride in his voice.

There was a sudden flicker of joy on the younger Crouch's face before he relaxed into his chair once more.

Dumbledore hesitated slightly. "If, perchance, you were to find him I would ask you to exercise caution while approaching him, even if he is in a weakened state."

"We have everything we need to capture him," said Barty Crouch Jr. "I'm sure we can hold him."

Dumbledore watched the son warily, perhaps wondering if he had imagined the amusement on the young man's face. He could not be sure.

"I would still proceed with caution. I am happy to come along, if necessary."

"Sure, why not?" Barty Crouch Jr. replied, easily. "It would be helpful. I'll need to find him first obviously."

"And I maybe able to resist you in your search," persisted Dumbledore. "Perhaps, if you will consent to it, you could take up the Defense against the Dark Arts post. Sadly, I find myself in need of filling the spot once again. You would have access to the vast resources here at Hogwarts."

Crouch Jr. sat up at once. "I am quite happy to."

"I don't think so," the Minister objected. "My son is a high ranking officer of the law. His place is at the Ministry."

"I only need to stay a year, father, if professor Dumbledore is okay with that."

"I am agreeable to that."

The Minister frowned.

"Dad," Crouch Jr. said impatiently, "I can get more leads by coming here. Professor Dumbledore's right - there's plenty I can use over here to find He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And I am sure he would agree to consult in finding the Dark Lord."

"Of course," Dumbledore responded lightly, his eyes piercing the younger Crouch, who fidgeted a little.

Crouch Sr. didn't seem to like it and spoke up grudgingly. "I'll allow it, on the condition that my son reports to me on the weekends, and if needed, come away from classes."

"Father, I don't think -"

"Oh, I think it should be fine, Minister. I will have someone -perhaps, Professor Snape - to cover those classes when the time comes. Although, it would be advisable for our new professor to be pulled out of class often - we wouldn't want the parents complaining that the Ministry is not taking their children's education seriously, do we?"

The son grinned as the father let out an irritated grunted, but nothing more was said. Silence would've reigned, if not for the sound of whirring trinkets, the gentle snoring of the portraits around the office, and of the whooshing of wings, as a handsome bird with red and yellow plumage - Fawkes, the phoenix was called - took off and soared out of the window.

"If that is all there is to discuss - "

Crouch Sr. interrupted Dumbledore. "Harry Potter."

Crouch Jr. quirked an eyebrow and glanced at his father. Dumbledore sighed.

"And what of him? As I am sure you are aware, he, along with his sister, will begin attending Hogwarts this September."

"You still believe it's a good idea to leave him with the Muggles when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is still out there?"

"I assure you, he has been given the highest protection possible over there. Peter Pettigrew - who, as you know was a close friend of James Potter, and is Kate Potter's Godfather - has been looking after them as well. Not to mention that the Ministry has been monitoring Little Whinging ever since the twins were sent to live with their closest blood relatives. They're in good hands, especially with all the security measures you've imposed over the last four years..."

Crouch Sr. looked like he wanted to object to it, but seemed to change his mind at the last minute. "And the girl? She has recovered fully?"

"She has," Dumbledore responded. "She was of frail health for sometime, but made complete recovery a few years ago." He chuckled, and continued fondly, his eyes twinkling. "I hear that she has inherited her father's love for the spotlight - she started training for the ballet four years ago and is very good. I certainly wouldn't mind watching a performance or two."

But Barty Crouch Sr. had no interest in such trivial matters. "If Voldemort is not caught, then what does that mean for Harry Potter?"

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes faded, and heaved a sigh, looking his age for the first time since the meeting began.

"What indeed, Minister," Dumbledore murmured, clasping his hands in front of him, above his desk, "what indeed."


	3. The Pettigrews

Chapter 2

Kate slid down the corner made by the wall and the dumpster, scratching her arm against the rough concrete; her pursuers inched forward, their large frames blocking the sun and throwing long shadows over her. Each member of her cousin Dudley's gang had a smirk on their faces. Kate quickly pursed her lips and cupped her hands tightly around her mouth and nose.

"Open up, Katherine," Dudley laughed, holding up a dead lizard by its tail. "It's dinner time, little cousin!"

"Don't call me that!" Kate's voice was muffled by her hands.

"What's the matter?" said Malcolm, who almost as large as her cousin. "Still can't spell your name?"

Kate scowled behind her hand, and glared at them defiantly, trying to ignore the fact that she was trembling violently. Kate had never been able to come up with witty retorts, and in her mind she wouldn't have said anything, even if she did; she wasn't as brave as Harry.

She slid down further, her mouth and eyes dry and palms sweating. She looked about, trying to find an escape route; then, through the mass of legs, Kate managed to spot her brother standing a few feet behind the gang, and signalling her. Kate looked at the gang, noting the two smallest members -Piers Polkiss, who was also Dudley's best friend, and Graham Matthews - whp were standing beside each other. She stood up suddenly, letting her hands down.

The five boys blinked in surprise. Dudley grinned and made to step forward when there was a yelp of pain, as a stone hit Graham in the back. Kate took her chance when all five of them turned and managed to push through Piers and Graham while they were distracted, which was not for very long.

Someone almost managed to grab her, forcing her to twist out of their way, even as Dudley yelled "Get her! Get them both!"

"C'mon!" Harry said urgently, grabbing her hand and running. Unfortunately, Kate was nowhere near as fast as any of the boys, except, perhaps, Malcolm and Dudley. She stumbled a little, trying to keep up with her brother. They turned around a corner and Kate bumped into Harry as he came to an abrupt halt.

Kate steadied herself, panting, and looked up to see why Harry had stopped. They both gulped as Aunt Petunia looked at them with suspicion. Behind them, the gang could still be yelling and running, obviously getting closer and closer. Indeed, the very next second, they rounded the corner, just as Aunt Petunia opened her mouth to say something.

"There you - Mum!" Dudley immediately pointed a finger at Harry and Kate. "Mum! They threw stones at me."

Kate let out an outraged cry. Harry looked furious. "Kate didn't do anything, and I did it only because - "

Harry was forced to dodge out of the way as a furious Aunt Petunia shrieked and swung her shopping bag at him.

* * *

The twins spent the next week locked up in their room, let out only for meals and using the bathroom three times a day. Even though it had been occupied for a decade, the room had the feel of an unwelcoming guestroom: It was sparsely furnished with an old bunk bed, a desk and a wardrobe. A large trunk lay open in one corner of the room and served as their bookshelf. The walls had been painted peach, a colour chosen by Aunt Petunia.

The house at number four Privet Drive had four bedrooms, and yet Harry and Kate shared the shared the smallest room ever since they had arrived at the Dursleys when they were only a year old after the murder of their parents.

Life at the Dursleys had always been miserable for the twins; Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had an intense dislike of anything that was not normal, and Harry and Kate, being magical, were anything but.

Currently, the twins stood in their bedroom and argued with one another; they tried to keep their voices down, trying not to give their Aunt and Uncle any further reason to keep them locked for any longer. They were to be let out after lunch.

"You listened to the match being replayed three times this week already! I need to practice for my recital! It's my last before we go to Hogwarts!"

"You can practice after the match," Harry countered. "This was a brilliant one and I need to listen to it again to make sure I covered everything that happened!"

"It'll be time for lunch, and you've already heard so many matches! What's one more?"

"You've already practised so many times, what's one more?"

Kate stamped her foot. "Harry!"

"Kate!" Harry stared at his sister's furious face and sighed. "Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Fine. Best of three. No extensions!"

Harry snorted. "You're the one who asks for extensions."

Kate ended up sitting on the bed, sulking, as she watched Harry listening to the Wizarding Wireless Network intently, and taking mental notes, while cheering and groaning in turns as he listened to his favourite team, Pride of Portree play against the Falmouth Falcons.

Despite maintaining her sour mood throughout the match, Kate grinned when the Pride won and Harry leapt into the air, even though he knew they would win.

If there was one thing Harry envied his sister for, it was the fact that she was free to dance as much as she liked. But he couldn't fly, and he had long to do so, ever since he heard the first match he could vaguely comprehend at the age of four. He had dreamt of his first flight ever since, and desperately hoped that he had inherited his father's Quidditch talent; he had never tired of hearing of James Potter's antics on the Quidditch pitch.

Peter had always assured Harry that he was too much like his father in looks and in his personality to not have gained his ability to fly - Harry had the same thin face, messy black hair, and the round framed glasses. With the exception of his bright green eyes and the lightning bolt scar, he might've been his father's carbon copy.

But Harry had voiced it to Kate that, at times, he doubted that he would be as good a flier as Peter claimed. On one hand, his resemblance to his father was what made Peter distant with him (Peter always said it hurt too much); but on the other hand, Kate looked like their father as well despite her red hair and even had his hazel eyes. Wasn't it possible that it Kate could be the Quidditch player and not him?

Kate had always assured him that it would have to be him - she would like to watch matches, but not actually play in it. She preferred the stage. Harry still wasn't convinced, but he let it be.

Lunch time came and went, and the two of them rushed out of the house and down the street as soon as they were told by Aunt Petunia that they were free(after being given a warning to behave, of course.)

Harry knocked. Kate waited for barely half a second before banging on the door, calling "Peter! Peter! Peter!"

"Really, Kate," chided an Irish voice as the door opened. Aibreann Pettigrew had a distinct Irish face, with chestnut brown curls and deep brown eyes.

"Hi!" Kate beamed and threw her arms around the older woman's waist. She ran into the house shouting for Peter once more.

"Peter's not back yet!" Aibreann called after her, sounding amused. She turned back to Harry and pulled him into a warm hug before ushering him into the house.

"What happened?" she asked, when the twins were seated in the hall, gorging on baked goods from Peter's bakery. Harry and Kate took turns telling Aibreann how Dudley and his gang had cornered Kate and how Harry rescued her, only to run into Aunt Petunia. Aibreann looked rather frustrated when they were done.

She paced up and down the hall, flailing her arms around, and tried to find words.  
"I'll talk to Peter. I-I don't know what else to do."

But her talk with Peter seemed to be of no avail. Even from their rooms, the twins could hear arguing, and pleading and nervous squeaking. Dinner had turned out to be an unusually tense event.

The next morning, the twins had expected that Aibreann would still be mad at her husband who had slept on the couch last night. However, when they were all seated at the table, Peter cleared his throat and made a small squeaking noise accidentally that got a small laugh out of Aibreann. It was his turn to be embarrassed and Aibreann leaned forward to kiss him on the nose. Harry looked away and Kate looked on with a wide smile.

"So," Peter squeaked, cleared his throat again and attempted to keep a casual voice. "An owl seemed to arrive for the two of you a while ago. I left the letters in the living room."

The twins looked at each other wide eyed before swiftly racing out of the kitchen and into the hall; they found to thick, yellow envelopes waiting for them. Harry approached them cautiously, and picked them up with trembling hands. Reading the inscriptions on them, he held one out to Kate. She took the envelope rather hesitantly, looking terrified. Her face fell when she saw "Ms. K. Pot - " The envelope couldn't be for anybody else.

"There's a letter saying I've been accepted, a train ticket and a list of supplies," Harry said. He peered at the contents of the envelope. "Yeah, yours say the same thing."

"I can read for myself," she snapped, and immediately turned contrite. "Sorry."

Harry just glanced at her and turned back to his letter tactfully. He let out a groan of disappointment. "I was hoping they would allow us to bring brooms. We're allowed to bring a cat, or a road or an owl. You'll like that."

Kate gave him half smile, and looked down at her sheet, reading the words out loud rather slowly, sometimes stuttering and sometimes being prompted by Harry.

She had expressed it out loud only once, but unlike a lot of other children, Kate Potter did not want to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She desperately wished that she would wake up one morning, and find that Peter had managed to convince Aibreann that it was for the best that Kate and Harry should be homeschooled - or at least Kate would be homeschooled, for Harry would've thrown a fit.

How could she not be terrified? What would happen when everybody in the Wizarding World found out that she was dyselxic?

"Well done!" said Peter, looking excited and sad at the same time, as he came in with Aibreann. "We'll head to Diagon Alley soon, and you can buy a pet Kate, and your wands!"

"And we'll buy you a broom next year, Harry," Aibreann promised. Harry beamed at them but Kate gave a forced smile. The two adults exchanged glances and Peter went over to Kate.

"It's going to be alright, Katie," he said anxiously.


End file.
